Silhouetted
by Theta One
Summary: After the final battle. A question from Havoc has Al considering hairstyles.


A/N: Written a while ago. Some details are not true to the manga and have completely failed to take the anime into account. But it's hard to write with multiple subtly different worlds and versions of events in mind so I hope I'll be forgiven. Also, I love Alphonse to bits.

**Silhouetted**

Alphonse's glad to have his body back. He's glad the way Riza's loyal to Mustang- that is, to say the word barely even comes close enough to the iceberg of emotion to feel chill which radiates from it. But given that he's spent the last couple of years trying to get this body back, Al decides his feelings are somewhat justified.

So he eats, bathes, sleeps and revels in the fact that suddenly his days are so _full_. Even the pain of forcing atrophied muscles to work again makes him smile.

"Damn, aren't you a happy trooper."

The smell of cigarette smoke wafts over and Al looks up with a surprised smile.

"Lieutenant Havoc, what are you doing here?"

"Just Havoc, kid. I'm not a dog of the military." The blond is sweaty and he grimaces. "Yet."

"Huh?"

Jean Havoc leans back and expels a cloud of smoke in a sigh. But there's a bit of a smile on his face.

"I'm here for the same reason you are. Physiotherapy. Mustang's climbing to the top and he needs his supporters now as much as ever. And the army doesn't take lame dogs."

"Ah." Al can't hold back a small grin himself. It's so very obvious that Havoc wants nothing more than to be in uniform again. Roy Mustang's that kind of man.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, watching the sun set over the small hospital garden. The smoke from Havoc's cigarette is starting to make the back of Al's throat itch but he can't really bring himself to mind. Is it a little sad, he wonders, that he's so deprived of sensation that even discomfort is something to be savored? The thought o being a masochist, or more specifically, the thought of his brother's likely reaction to that, makes Al shake his head and laugh quietly to himself.

The noise draws his silent partner's gaze once more and Al finds that he is expecting a question. Maybe about how he feels or what he was looking at or even what the fight with Father was like.

Instead: "are you going to cut your hair?"

Al's reply is a picture of eloquence. "Huh?"

"Your hair's long you know. For a minute, I thought you were Edward."

Al's not really been looking in mirrors since he got his body back. He remembers how it looked when he stood before it at the Gate in his armor. It's not a proud memory; the skeletal cheeks, the empty eyes and the vacant grin, the limbs waif-like in their thinness and the ribs which you could count through the skin stretched painfully tight over them. No; that's not a proud memory. And while he's not foolish enough to be ashamed of how he looks after years of neglect, his appearance isn't really something Al wants to contemplate right now. Anyway, he's been too busy trying to get his body to do little things like _walk_. Or enjoying the little things like the taste of a meal, the feeling of sleepiness, the caress of a breeze against his skin… But since Havoc's brought it up, he turns his attention to the yellow-brown strands that catch in the edge of his vision when he turns his head.

"Brother's always kept his hair long."

"Yeah?" Havoc drops his cigarette butt on the flagstones and begins the ritual of lighting another one. "How about you? From the photo I've seen, you kept it pretty short- almost like army regs."

Al half laughs, half winces; he's never thought about his old haircut that way before. Havoc catches the wince and grins.

"So, gonna keep it long?"

"No." Al's almost surprised at how fast his own answer comes.

"Good choice. I hear ladies have a weakness for men with a sharp haircut."

Al laughs and nods even as he realizes his reasons have nothing to do with the preferences of women. A series of images rush across his mind; Hoenheim, Father, his brother, Edward. There's resemblance there. All cut from the same mold. Family, of a sorts. And then there's him. The family resemblance is stamped into his features too but at the same time, they're not. There's a drive and hardness in his father, brother, enemy, that Alphonse knows he doesn't have. Even though he still has his Gate and true knowledge, Alphonse feels in his heart that Edward is going to continue to astound more than he will.

Alphonse knows he is a good man and talented alchemist but he has no illusions of greatness. And even if it's in this small, petty way, he doesn't want his back to imitate the image of gods among men.

And one day, he shares this thought with Winry. His childhood friend rewards him with a whack to the back of the head. Alphonse is grateful that she's not holding a wrench at the time.

"Idiot. Don't ever think that. How should you know how broad your own back is when you've never seen it? I think you'd look great with long hair too."

And Alphonse smiles and understands. But he keeps his hair short anyway. Because this really sin't about impressing the ladies and he likes his hair the way it is.

Also he's seen Ed's hair-care routine and some things are just more trouble than they're worth.

~_End_


End file.
